Release
by Adelaide205
Summary: He watched for a while, memorized for a moment, captivated and sedated in his madness. He curled his bare legs up to himself. He was resting on a tiny cot in the corner of a barren room. It was late in the night he assumed; there were no screams of fear or madness that echoed off of the walls in the long holding ward hall. Thorki AU. Warnings do apply.


_From the author to you fabulous reader,_

_Welcome to a new Thorki story. I know there are thousands, but maybe this one might stand out. I wanted to do a different type of story with Thor and Loki dealing with an AU setting. This is a prompted story. I'm working off of the newest season of American Horror Story, so warnings are in order. This is not cute, not a romance, but an adaptation of that twisted feeling one can get in the back of his mind sometimes. It is a mixing of insanity and sex. _

_If you've seen the first bit of this before in an rp, well then that was me. Hello! I've decided to just turn it into a full fledged story because it was laying uselessly in my documents, mocking me. _

_Unfortunately this not the full fledged smut that it was meant to be; so if you'd like to read the unrated story, then please visit my tumblr linked in my bio. _

_Any questions, concerns, critiques are welcome. I do not mind if you give me constructive feed back; feel free to tell me whatever comes across your mind. I'm always eager to learn what I can do to make my writing better. _

**-I do not own Thor or Loki, obviously, they are Gods and no one really owns them, but I feel that a disclaimer should go here regardless-**

Tick tick tick rose a clamor, the clock's face mocked him and laughed in his face, sticking out its blackened tongue to display its offensive gestures. Loki! Loki! Loki!

He watched for a while, memorized for a moment, captivated and sedated in his madness. He curled his bare legs up to himself. He was resting on a tiny cot in the corner of a barren room. It was late in the night he assumed; there were no screams of fear, or madness that echoed off of the walls in the long holding ward hall. He couldn't sleep; there was no comfort in it. No peace behind the lid of his eyes. Only the faces of men and monsters. Gods with powers. Men that could fly. Soldiers that could withstand anything. They told him that these were visions, proof of his insanity. Proof, yet that distant world seemed so real to him; it was a pity really that the man that he dreamed about was such a vile being, deluded in his lust for power and deceived by his own deceptions.

The voices of the doctors echoed in his mind. "These dreams, Loki, are a representation for what your mind so desperately wants. That lust for power is a sickness and must be corrected. Before any harm is done; you understand, yes? There's a good lad, now take your medicine and we'll see if we can't get you well again." It was a year ago that the doctors told him that he could be cured.

The voices evaporated into the walls and Loki was silent, still, listening, chewing on the side of his cheek, eyes wide and eagerly consuming the darkness that shrouded him. He heard footsteps, soft off in the distance. He smiled and crept off of his bed, swaying and swaggering towards the cell of his door like some mad puppet, crippled from the absence of activity and the lack of nutrition. Did his man of honor come to speak to him in the quiet of the night? He pressed his lips to the cool metal chain links that barred his peeping window on his door.

There were footsteps beyond the outer reaches of the black shadows. Keys jingled and Loki's gut clenched in excitement; he could barely hold himself straight. He leaned on the door in front of him for support, trying so desperately hard to see that looming figure that tromped his way towards him. Was he coming? His squirmed in his place and whispered in to the darkness, voice raspy and broken, too much screaming.

"Thor,"

There was a sharp, gruff laugh and that ominous figure halted at the edge of pooling light from Loki's barred window.

"Still calling me that?"

Loki shook his head, his greasy locks falling into his eyes. He shrunk away from the door and licked his cracked, frail lips, gripping at the hem of his hospital gown. There was the sound of keys again; oh, what a soft and sweet sound, like thousands of tiny birds chirping the song freedom. The dead bolt whaled and Loki's attention snapped to that moment again. He knew what was coming, was about to happen. He cracked his neck and rolled his head on his shoulders, shrinking away like the frightful creature this man thought him to be, off onto his bed as the man in white stepped into his room.

"I thought you might come tonight," he said plainly as he perched on top of his dusty covers. He gripped his hands together and massaged his knuckles, wincing at the aching pain they provided him, but that pain was a securing bond. He knew this was real. Or was it? Was he just sitting in the dark with himself, talking into to the moon light like some maddened witch on the borders of the woods.

Witchcraft; Loki remembered magic from his dreams, having power; being able to take shape of others. Glorious power, but he didn't have that power here. He knew no such thing, only the violent punishment of a normal, caring, society. They cast him out and threw him into this madhouse like a rabid dog, no better than a bitch deserving to be put out of his misery.

It was hell, and this man only offered a mind numbing release. He listened to Loki's stories and fueled them, letting him call him Thor. His name was not Thor, though he had his face; he was no king, or god, but a guardsmen in the night.

"Medicine?" Loki asked as he opened his mouth, flicking his tongue out across his teeth.

"You know; it's an attitude like that that makes the nuns treat you with such vile hate," Thor said, curling a golden lock behind his ear as he stepped forward. "They'd shutter to think of what you do in the dark here, to yourself, to me. You'd get beaten, locked away, away from the light, from contact, but not from me."

No. There was no getting away. He was a nightmare, a pleasant nightmare of Loki's own.

Loki laughed and his voice rang out in the barren cell. It was useless commenting. He merely licked his lips. This man was hear for a reason and through trial and error, he had learned not to question, not to fight. The golden guardsman stepped forward. "Medicine," he repeated as he pinched Loki's jaw.

Loki's mind whittled away, crawled off somewhere into a barren, desolate, land, abandoned completely by morals, abandoned by sanity. In reality, there within the cement walls of his insanity, he was kissed, touched, fucked; his mind was itching; his skin was crawling, aching, twitching. He squirmed; oh that terrible feeling in his gut. He huffed and opened his mouth, accepting that tongue in and cleaving to the warm flesh above him.

This happened often; this man came to him in the dead of the night. He was normal, society accepted him, yet he found comfort in the dank securities of Loki's cell and with his body. Loki hated himself for it, but he could not deny those pleasures of the flesh, and this man was so much like the one from his dreams. Who could say no? He hardly had a choice.

It was rough, wretched, glorious. Oh so glorious. His voice sang out in notes of pleasure as the guardsmen stooped over him, shrouding him with a false sense of love and affection.

"Oh, baby, you feel so good tonight."

"Thor."

"Say it again."

"Thor!" Loki cried, ashamed, and pleased. It was as close as he could get when he wasn't asleep. His body twitched and ached. He clenched and gritted his teeth. This had become his life, casted out, spat on, and rejected.

He lay used on his bed, curled into a ball, gripping his arms. He shook and rocked for comfort, to lull him to sleep. The guardsman had had his fill. Satisfied. He slunk away, locking the door behind him.

Loki twitched, wanting to slip away to a peaceful nothing, not wanting to be plague by voices, men, magic.


End file.
